“O wretched man that I am.” Rom. 7. 13-24

J. Hart                               S.M.

How sore a plague is sin,
To those by whom ’tis felt!
The Christian cries, “Unclean, unclean!”
E’en though released from guilt.

O wretched, wretched man!
What horrid scenes I view!
I find, alas! do all I can,
That I can nothing do.

When good I would perform,
Through fear or shame I stop,
Corruption rises like a storm,
And blasts the promised crop.

[Of peace if I’m in quest,
Or love my thoughts engage,
Envy and anger in my breast
That moment rise and rage.]

[When for a humble mind
To God I pour my prayer,
I look into my heart, and find
That pride will still be there.]

How long, dear Lord, how long
Deliverance must I seek;
And fight with foes so very strong,
Myself so very weak?

I’ll bear the unequal strife,
And wage the war within;
Since death, that puts an end to life,
Shall put an end to sin.

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